Last One Standing
by Cait Mur
Summary: Daryl Dixon returns to Atlanta for closure after the death of Beth Greene. What he finds there, is so much more than he could have dreamed of. Rated M for eventual mature content/language. Eventual Bethyl slow burn.
1. Chapter 1 - Back Where We Started

**Last One Standing**

Chapter One - Back Where We Started

* * *

He dreamt of Atlanta again.

His dreams weren't always the same. He'd gone days without one, but tonight it returned. Atlanta, painted in pale reds and browns, the stench of death radiating through the sidewalks and down the streets, coating and killing every living thing that ever was. Daryl walked with a purpose, concentration focused on only one thing.

He found the same spot, always the same one that gave him the best vantage point. He looked up at the hospital, the ugly brown building that no longer worked, no longer saved lives but took them. It was the place where he'd lost it all, that last shred of humanity he clung to before it all went wrong.

She was always in the window, impossibly far away, but her wide, blue eyes were visible from where he stood. Sometimes she yelled for him, sometimes she sang. Tonight, she mouthed something to him through the glass. Something he couldn't quite make out.

In the dream, he always tried the doors, in some sort of frantic panic. But no matter which dream it was, he could never get inside. Bless him, though, Dream Daryl always tried, before dread flooded through him. He came back out to look at her in the window. She was pounding on the glass, her lips forming the same words as before. He struggled to understand her.

Time was running out.

 _Too slow Dixon, and you'll lose her again._

Daryl Dixon woke in a cold sweat, sitting up with a gasp. He was alone in his small bedroom, startled from his dream. It took him a moment to steady his breath.

It had been months, and the dream still lingered, following him, like a black cloud he couldn't shake. Rationally, he knew he might never shake it. But the dream was so vivid, so eerily placed, he knew it would follow him again for days, just like it had last time.

It killed him.

Nobody talked about Beth anymore. Maybe they did behind closed doors, but the conversation never found him. The wound from her death was still fresh, and the dreams made it worse, cracking it open again to bleed painfully. Last time he'd dreamt of Atlanta, he thought he'd do anything to make it stop. So, he visited Denise to ask her for some sort of fancy pill that might let him sleep without dreaming. The woman had an arsenal of medication. If anyone could help, it would be her.

He wouldn't have asked if he hadn't been desperate.

He thought the transaction might be easy. Daryl had learned to lie well enough in middle school, especially with Merle for a brother. Instead, she met his request with a bunch of shrink questions, that made him defensive and angry. As he moved to leave the infirmary, she had stopped him in his tracks.

"What you might need, Daryl, is closure," she told him kindly. "What happened back there, before you came here, was unfathomable. Not everyone copes the same. It's normal to need a sense of finality over something before you can move on."

He had looked at her, trying to read her face. Did she know? Had someone told her about Grady and Beth, of what he'd lost back there? He'd decided that he didn't care, and stormed out anyway, avoiding her ever since.

But the closure thing stuck with him.

Leaving Beth after the hospital was rushed. The group had been eager to move out of the city quickly, to forget the horrors they were leaving behind. They didn't spend too much time looking for her final resting place. In the end, they'd decided to leave her in the small housing accommodations next to the hospital, with locked doors so nothing could get to her. It was the best they could give her at the time.

It never sat right with Daryl, leaving here there like that. The girl deserved a burial, fuck, a full funeral, memorial service, the whole nine yards. Not to be dumped in a bed with itchy sheets and a flat pillow. At the very least they could have found her some flowers.

A herd chased them out before they had any more time to think about it. Before her blood had even dried, they began their journey to Alexandria. Time moved on, and it seemed, at least to Daryl, like everyone was trying to forget any of it ever happened. He supposed that was just the way to cope.

 _Closure_.

He ran the word over in his mind a few times, thinking about what it might mean. If she was still there, still lying in that room, alone, with an unmarked grave. She was there without any indication to anyone about who she was, or that she'd made an impact on anyone in this world. The more he thought about it, the more it tore something apart inside of him.

Daryl looked at the chair in the corner of his room. His bow laid up against the side of it, and a full backpack, stocked for runs, sat on top of it. Downstairs, he knew, were more supplies he could take if he needed them, and keys to one of the many vehicles the town boasted.

He thought about Atlanta, what a trip back might mean. It would be a trip to make sure he laid her to rest properly, in a way that she deserved.

 _It does matter_.

He made up his mind. Standing from his bed, he dressed for a long trip, his mind clearer than it had been in some time. This was something that he _needed_ to do. He owed Beth Greene that much.

* * *

 **A/N:** Whee, welcome back to a new Bethyl fic! I will give fair warning that this will probably be updated sporadically, but I'm excited about where it will go. The time frame here is pretty soon after Daryl and TF arrived in Alexandria, before the arrival of Negan. Hope you'll come along on the journey with me!


	2. Chapter 2 - The Traveled Road

**Last One Standing**

Chapter Two - The Traveled Road

* * *

Deciding to leave Alexandria was easy.

The two-story colonials with their white-picket fences and carefully groomed lawns felt sterile and cold. He was misplaced inside these walls. They all were. They had entered the gates feral, with blood on their hands and weapons on their backs. Trying to comb them back into _normalcy_ was a joke. They'd seen and done too much.

Anyhow, none of this had ever been _normal_ for Daryl. He could feel happy for those that adapted. Shit, Carol had no trouble doing that, in her flowered button down, making cookies for the neighbors. Even Rick and Michonne seemed at ease, taking on leadership roles, and playing house with Judith and Carl.

But Daryl knew the real them. What they had sacrificed and lost along the way. This place, it was a fallacy. There was no _normal_ , anymore. There was just surviving.

The night was crisp. The weight of his bow strapped across his back satisfied him as he strode across Alexandria towards the front gate. Armed with new determination, Daryl felt energy breathe back into his body. It was like scratching an itch he'd been reaching for.

The gate came into view as Daryl rounded the corner. Tonight was Abe's night on guard. Good. The man was a hard-ass, but he wouldn't try to talk Daryl out of what he wanted to do.

The gate door clanged as Daryl approached, bringing his knuckles to the metal.

"Fuck!" Abraham shouted in surprise. A flashlight clicked on, and Daryl saw his head appear over the rim of the guard post. "Who is it?" It seemed like he couldn't catch his breath.

"Daryl." The sound of his own voice surprised him, rough but unsteady. He didn't _feel_ nervous, but his body clearly felt otherwise.

"Daryl?" Abe sounded relieved. "What are you doing here? It ain't your shift."

"I'm...leaving." Daryl held his breath, waiting for a response.

"Going on a run?"

"Not quite."

Abraham stood, his upper half visible now. "What's going on?" he asked. "Something wrong?"

"No," Daryl answered, shifting the bow on his back. "I'm going back to Atlanta."

"Atlanta?"

"There's something I need to do there." He squeezed his eyes shut, and Beth's face appeared. That smile, the wide grin that lit up the world. The bullet, the deadly wound, her limp body in his arms.

Abraham paused, and for a moment Daryl wasn't sure he would answer him. "Will you be back?" he asked.

"I think so." It was the most honest answer he could give. Right now though, he was only worried about getting there.

Above him, Daryl heard the unmistakable clang of the lock unlatch from the other side of the fence.

"You should go." The voice was female, melodic. Sasha. Daryl grinned, despite himself, realizing the source of Abraham's breathlessness.

With his shoulder, he pushed the gate forward, slipping through the small crack he made. He found the only motorcycle, black and dusty among the graveyard of cars.

He brought the bike to life and took off into the night.

* * *

Morning came slowly, breaking through dawn's purple clouds. Daryl drove in the middle of the road, worn tires skimming either side of the faded yellow line. Brown leaves laid across the pavement, swept up behind him as he drove past.

He soared by a collapsed sign that announced he was leaving Virginia.

 _I've never been outta Georgia_.

The trip to Alexandria felt like yesterday. His first time leaving the state was for all the wrong reasons. The journey had been a blur for him. They had stopped many times on the way up, Daryl finding a quiet spot somewhere in the woods, using his soggy cigarettes as an excuse to hide his tears.

He hadn't been able to stop the crying. It washed over him in unavoidable waves, suffocating him with reality. It was a crushing sadness that ate through his heart. He had _failed_ her. He didn't have enough time with her.

He felt the sadness again now, sweep through him, but he had gotten better about holding back the tears. The feeling of emptiness, the sadness that poked him every time he thought of her face. He had just gotten used to those things.

He was going to do right by Beth, even though it was already too late.

Daryl's stomach rumbled. It was time for a break.

* * *

Daryl rode through the day and into the afternoon. He left the Carolina's behind him, following Interstate 85 into the heart of Atlanta. The highway was still stuck in time, evidence of the last traffic jams, the last panicked attempt at escape frozen forever on the blacktop.

He navigated through them easily, the thin body of the motorcycle able to slip through cracks that cars could not. Forgotten walkers sat trapped in a few of the cars, snapping as he passed. He ignored them, revving his engine to drown out their groans.

The skyline of Atlanta popped up over the horizon. It was a beautiful day, with a clear blue sky. It was a perfect day to lay Beth to rest. He felt satisfied with purpose as he skirted another parked car and took off down the rest of the empty highway.

Atlanta was how he remembered it too, eerie and deserted. The number of walkers had decreased dramatically since he had last been here, and Daryl knew there were probably survivors here doing their best to clean house.

Trying to return to some sense of _normalcy_.

Daryl barely ventured into the city before the turn. Mostly he hung around his hometown of Dawsonville, and another town over, up in their own little world in the Georgia woods. Atlanta always felt like a different world. Now, though, it felt a little familiar. Like he was returning to the past.

He rode another block and found a place to park the bike. It would be impossible to get Beth's body anywhere on it, so he needed to stash it until it was time to leave.

The sidewalk along the road was caked with blood, littered with body parts and full corpses. Most lay forgotten and still, but the few without head wounds clicked their teeth at him. Daryl kept his hand at his side, on the knife he always carried. _Her_ knife.

Another block and he turned, his heart pounding wildly. The hospital was in front of him, the same ugly building he had left behind. He knew it would be here. But seeing it again, after his time away, made him feel uneasy.

 _Man up_ , he told himself. Careful to skirt the perimeter of the hospital, Daryl took his time to avoid any unwanted confrontations. He put down two walkers before he found the building beside the hospital. The one where he'd left her. The one where Beth still laid.

He hadn't thought much about what she might look like now, or what condition her body would be in. It didn't matter. He'd only thought of bringing her somewhere peaceful, somewhere beautiful and bright. Like she had been. Not stuffed up in some tiny room.

The glass entrance door read "Grady Memorial Visitor Lodging," and was fogged with the dust from inside. He entered, gingerly opening the door. His vision tunneled, and he was back in that dark place. He saw himself when he'd been forced to walk away from her the first time, cheeks tear-stained and blotchy, unable to form a sentence.

"We need to go," Rick had told him, placing a firm hand on his shuddering shoulders as he openly wept beside Maggie, Glenn, Carol, and Noah. Daryl had looked up at the door, outside where Abraham and Rosita were barely handling the pile-up of walkers that had found them after the hospital.

Daryl knew it was what they had to do. He knew it had been the best option. Their only option. It still hadn't made it right. He was here to change that.

He found the hall where he and Maggie had picked a room. Not that it mattered, because they all looked the same. He counted the doors, found the third one and gasped.

It was open.

Daryl entered, expecting to find a bloodied mess, or worse, a half-eaten corpse, but he found none of those things. The mattress was empty.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you guys for the reviews, follows, and favorites on this new story! I'm having SO much fun writing it and hope you'll enjoy this journey with me! Looking forward to writing a Bethyl reunion scene very soon. Stay tuned! ;)


	3. Chapter 3 - Alive

**Last One Standing**

Chapter Three - Alive

* * *

Daryl bent down to examine the door. It was sturdy, made from wood, the frame untouched. No evidence of a forced entry. The lock was on the inside of the door.

He had locked the door. He knew he had. The moment was so vivid in his mind, he wasn't sure he could ever forget it. He had looked back at Beth's tiny body, tucked carefully under the blankets of the bed, looking like she was sleeping. He had checked to make sure the door was locked, rattling it in its frame to make sure it would hold. He couldn't bear the thought of her being disturbed.

Daryl inspected the handle. Old blood crusted around the brass handle, and he stared at it.

"Impossible," he whispered. _Someone_ had opened it from the inside.

His world spun. For the first time, Daryl thought about the possibility of Beth being alive.

He wasted no time tearing out of the room, his crossbow bouncing on his back as he ran out the front door towards the hospital. If Beth had gone anywhere, it would have been there.

* * *

Daryl tucked himself behind the body of a broken vending machine, weighing his options. Only a door stood between him and two men with assault rifles. They might shoot him if he got too close. He might shoot them if there was no other choice.

The thought of seeing Beth again, or at least understanding what happened to her was on the horizon. It seemed impossible. No. It _was_ impossible. But somehow today, it all became possible.

Daryl's head hurt.

He took a deep breath, and one last look over his shoulder before he got to his feet. He rounded the machine and came up to the windowed hospital door. The man on the left saw him immediately, raising his gun to aim at his head. Daryl broke into a sweat, raising his arms in surrender to show he meant no harm.

"Stop right there!"

The door muffled the man's voice. He took a few apprehensive steps forward, squinting at Daryl. He couldn't have been older than eighteen, the hairs on his chin were barely grown. Daryl knew this could go bad at any minute.

"Don't shoot!" Daryl heard himself say, pressing through the doors. They swung inwards, creating a space for him. Careful to keep his hands raised, he let the doors swing to a stop behind him before he spoke again. "I'm not here to hurt you."

The men looked at him blankly, both clutching their guns with raised shoulders. The one in the back shook slightly. Daryl got the feeling that they didn't get many visitors.

"What do you want!" the one in the back shouted at him, his voice shaking just as bad as his hands. Daryl knew instantly he'd be too afraid to shoot. He inched closer.

"I'm looking for someone." Daryl dropped his hands slightly. "Please. A blonde woman." He paused, choosing his next words carefully. "I thought she died. I came back for her, to…to bury her. But, when I got there she was…just...gone."

The two men exchanged a skeptical glance with each other. Daryl's frustration flared. He knew he sounded crazy, this whole situation was crazy. The question he was asking was _insane_.

"How'd she die?" the man on the left asked.

Daryl swallowed. "She was shot."

The men looked at each other again.

"Where was she shot?" The younger man shouted at him, shaking the gun trying to elicit a response.

"In the head." Daryl raised a finger to his forehead to show them where.

Both men lowered their weapons, sharing another look between them, and Daryl broke into a sweat. Disbelief swirled around him. He felt numb from their response, still trying to dissect it. Was he misreading them? Did they think he was crazy?

"You should come with us." The older man spoke, motioning for Daryl to come down the hall. Daryl nodded, releasing a breath he'd been holding. The two men led Daryl through another set of doors and into a familiar hallway. The one where Beth had been shot, her blood splattered across Rick and the ugly white walls.

He looked for blood but saw no sign of any.

He brought his attention back to the two men in front of him. They whispered back and forth, but Daryl couldn't make out their words. He wasn't sure he wanted to. They passed two closed doors, and one open one, where a man in a lab coat sat behind a desk, reading a book.

At the next door, they stopped.

"Wait here." The older of the two men disappeared inside of the room. Daryl shifted to try and follow him, but the younger man stepped in front of him.

"What gives?" Daryl grumbled, glaring at the young boy. The man crossed his arms but gave no answer.

His pulse quickened, heart raced in his chest. The overwhelming need to see what was in that room scratched at him from the inside. He needed to _see_ , god damn it. A glimpse of a blonde head. _Anything_. But before he could run the young boy over, an unmistakable voice reached his ears.

Daryl froze.

The man exited the room, looking over his shoulder at whoever was following him. Daryl knew who it was before she even reached the door frame.

And then, Beth Greene walked out from behind the door.

* * *

Two weeks ago to the day, Beth Greene woke up.

It wasn't remarkable, waking up. Beth opened her eyes in an unfamiliar bed, feeling how she imagined her Daddy used to when he'd had a hangover. She'd squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force the headache away, but it prevailed, a searing pain shooting through her eye, all the way back to the nape of her neck.

Beth would have written it off as a migraine if she hadn't looked down and seen the blood. She could smell it, the tangy, sharp smell of iron. There was so much of it, covering the pillow, her arm, her hands, a sticky mess of coagulated fluid.

A fear unlike any other blew through her. She jumped to her feet, dizzy and disoriented, before righting herself on the door handle. By the grace of God, she found a hospital just next door. _Grady Memorial_. Slowly, she had crossed the street, found her way up a flight of stairs, finally collapsing in the middle of a hallway.

She woke again two days later, wrapped up in a hospital bed.

The people there knew who she was, knew her name, told her she'd been shot. But Beth struggled to place them all. The doctor explained there would be things missing. Taking a bullet to the brain and surviving, didn't come without consequences.

She slept constantly, her body trying to recover from the injury, and had trouble discerning her dreams from reality. There was the farm, and Momma and Daddy, Shawn, Maggie, and the horses. She knew those things to be true. There was the turn, the newcomers who had stayed at the farm. Those things she knew had happened too.

She dreamt of a prison, gray, cold, but safe. A baby, with brown wispy hair, high-pitched hungry cries Beth tried to soothe. A one-eyed man. The bloody katana. Her father's head on the ground. These things she wasn't quite sure of.

She dreamt of a man, tall, with a vest and a crossbow. _Dixon_. Kind, blue eyes, rough hands. He was angry with her once, then softer. She had lost him.

So when one of the men on watch had rushed in to tell her he thought someone might be looking for, her heart swelled and her tummy dropped, and she felt like she would be sick and burst into tears all at the same time. She found her way out of the room, palms sweaty, little pads on the bottom of her socks sticking to the linoleum.

The man was tall, with a vest, and even the crossbow. She knew his face, his eyes, curves of his mouth, the dotted freckles over his nose. She knew his body, his arms, wide shoulders, the way he sort of crouched as he walked. He crumbled before her, dropping to his knees, hands clutched to his mouth in disbelief, unable to stop tears welling in his eyes.

"Beth." The man's voice was gruff. She hadn't dreamt him up. "You're alive."


	4. Chapter 4 - Inside Grady

**Last One Standing**

Chapter Four - Inside Grady

* * *

The man wrapped her in a clumsy embrace. His strong warmth radiated through her, the leather of his vest pressing up against her face. He smelled rich, and earthy, with the mix of leather, like the saddles of the horses she used to ride. She allowed herself to sink into it. There was something here. He was familiar. Something about him screamed home.

Then it came, as the memories sometimes did. The farm, his crossbow, the little girl coming out of the barn. In bed, wounded by the arrow. Running. The prison. _Lil ass-kicker_. The one-eyed man. The bloody katana. Her father's head on the ground. And then, chaos. Running. Running until they couldn't breathe.

 _Everyone we know's dead!_

The moonshine. The shack, up in flames. The graveyard. His hands, calloused, gripped at hers desperately. He carried her inside.

 _What changed your mind?_

She brought her arms up to squeeze him. Her chest was so tight she thought she might explode. She knew him.

Of course she knew him.

"Daryl?" It came out as a question. She wasn't certain of much anymore, but by the way he clenched his arms around her even tighter, she was pretty sure she'd gotten it right.

* * *

Daryl felt like he stood there, hugging the poor girl for hours. He could have picked her up, right off her feet and cradled her, but he kept her firmly on the ground. Beth, the idea of her being alive, was so delicate in this moment, he was afraid to move.

She came up for air, shifting her head, to look up at him. "Come on." She pulled away and tugged him towards the door of the hospital room. "Let's sit."

Daryl followed her, afraid to let her slip from his sight, in fear that she might somehow disappear. The hospital room was ordinary and sterile. On the table by the bed, Daryl noticed Beth's yellow shirt and ripped jeans folded neatly, the evidence of blood washed away.

Beth sat on the bed, patting the space next to her for him. He sat, staring at her in awe, eyes transfixed on her forehead. Her cheeks and forehead still bore the aftermath of her stitches and the evidence of her larger wound was covered by a bandage that wrapped around her head.

"Beth." He struggled to find his words, but nothing seemed appropriate. He just sat there, shaking his head, his mouth wide, staring at her in disbelief.

She smiled at him. "I'll be honest, Daryl, I don't remember too much. It's all coming back to me in pieces. I'm having some trouble figuring out what's real and what's not."

He chewed on his fingernail. How could he not have known? How could he have left her alone like that, to fend for herself, after being shot? How didn't he realize? "Beth," he said again. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know. I - we, all thought you were dead." He shook his head again. "I'm so sorry."

Beth inched closer to him, placing her hands over his. He tensed, his instinctual reaction to being touched, but didn't pull away. "How could you have known?" The question was rhetorical.

"I wasn't in any place, any state of mind to check...your breathing...I thought it was over...the bullet, it went-"

"Clean through my head." Beth finished the sentence for him, reaching around to the back of her head where the back of the bandage was firmly wrapped in place. "Doctor Edwards said I should have died. That I was lucky. Some damage to the temporal lobe is why I'm having trouble rememberin'. I can remember faces, but names and places are tricky. But it's better than...you know." She shrugged as if it was nothing.

"I'm sorry," Daryl said again. The guilt weighed on him, settling on his shoulders and in his chest. "I shouldn't've left you. My God. I should've made sure." He looked down at his knees, a bubble of blame rising into his throat.

He felt her touch him, her fingertips against the side of his face, light pressure from the pads of her fingers forced him to turn his face towards her.

Beth was close enough to smell, her scent like soap and vanilla, eyes studying his worn and tired face. "But you came back," she said, and he watched her mouth move, pink lips curve upwards into a small smile. "You came back for me."

"I had to." He heard himself say the words that he meant. Doing right by Beth had been so important. He couldn't have lived with himself if he hadn't. "I couldn't have left you there. I wanted to do right by you."

Her face softened, and she bit her lip as he said the words. His stomach somersaulted. "Well. I'm glad you found me."

She dropped her hand suddenly, breaking the moment between them, and Beth closed her eyes, her face screwed up in pain. She fumbled for his hand, grasping it, squeezing until her nails dug into his skin.

"Beth!" Daryl exclaimed, watching her helplessly, until the moment passed, and she released her grip on him.

"I'm sorry. I need to lie down," she told him wearily, reaching for the bed. "When the pain is bad, sleep is the only way to get rid of it."

He nodded in powerless understanding, helping her strip the covers back and settle comfortably in the hospital bed. She laid on her back, fighting to keep her eyes open as he brought the blanket up to her chin. "Don't go anywhere Daryl," she told him sternly.

"I promise I won't."

Beth was asleep within seconds.

Finding a chair, Daryl sat, watching Beth as she succumbed to sleep. He rested his arms on his knees, feeling tired himself, but not daring to sleep. How could he now?

"Hi there." A voice from the door startled him, and Daryl straightened to turn his attention to the person at the door. It was the man in the lab coat, his hands in his pockets, square glasses resting at the edge of his nose. Daryl vaguely remembered him.

He entered the room and Daryl stiffened at his entrance, standing from the chair. "Hello," Daryl replied awkwardly.

"I'm not sure we've met." The doctor came towards Daryl with an extended hand. "I'm Steven Edwards."

He grasped the man's hand and shook it. "Daryl."

The doctor looked back at Beth on the bed. "It's a miracle. Nothing short of a modern-day miracle that she survived." The doctor looked at Daryl, letting a moment of silence pass between them. "Was there when she was shot. As you can imagine, we were quite startled when we found her collapsed in the hallway. She'd lost a lot of blood."

Daryl nodded at the doctor, not knowing what to say.

"We've taken good care of her, these past few weeks, you know. She has some brain damage. Some of it is irreversible. She'll have trouble remembering things for the rest of her life. And she needs to let her body heal." The doctor cocked his head at Daryl. "Can I ask you a question?"

Daryl cleared his throat, feeling uneasy. There was something about this doctor he didn't like. "Sure."

"What are you doing here?"

The question was absurd, and Daryl looked at the man, confused, trying to understand what he was asking.

"What?"

The doctor frowned. "You left her for dead. Why come back now?"

Daryl's eyes narrowed. "I wanted to do right by her. Bury her the right way. Give her a little dignity. I didn't know...how would I have known she was alive?"

The doctor raised his eyebrow. "What's your plan now, then? You can't expect us to be stitching up head wounds like hers for free, you know."

Daryl narrowed his eyes at the man. He knew people like this, how they operated. Noah had told them all about how Dawn had run her little crew of gremlins here at Grady. It seemed like nothing had changed after her death.

"What do you want?" Daryl asked, not certain he was going to like the answer.

"Pay your dues." The doctor crossed his arms. "Hers too. And then you two can go traipsing on back to whatever people you left to come here." He turned to exit the room. "Unless they're the kind to leave you behind too."

Something unfurled inside of Daryl, red-hot anger that rolled out from his mouth in a growl.

Getting out of Grady, and back to Alexandria would be harder than he thought.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you guys for all of the awesome reviews, and the favorites and follows! I'm really enjoying writing this story, trying to imagine what would have happened between Beth and Daryl if she stayed alive and he went back for her. They're definitely going to be setting out on a long adventure moving forward - getting out of Grady, then back to Alexandria, and I can't wait to write it. Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5 - Gone

**Last One Standing**

Chapter Five - Gone

* * *

When she woke, it was night. The only light that shone into the room came from the door. Outside, she knew, lights hung, connected by wires to the generator on the floor below them.

A shadow moved from one edge of the room to the other. Beth watched it for a moment, trying to decide if it was real. She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to remember. Remember. Remember. Rich, earthy, leather. Eyes, cerulean blue. The crossbow. Daryl.

"Daryl?" Beth's voice was raspy with sleep.

The shadow stilled, then came towards her, reaching the side of her bed. The light illuminated his face, hollowed by the world outside these doors. His eyes twinkled, behind his tangled hair, looking almost out of place on his face. There was a boyish gleam to them that intrigued her.

"You okay?" He seemed nervous, a little fidgety.

"Yeah," she answered. "I'm sorry I slept so long."

He frowned at her. "Don't you go on apologizin'. Still can't believe you're-" His voice cracked, and he hesitated. She thought he might touch her, grasp her arm, or try for her hand, but instead, he crossed his arms. "We need to get out of here," he hissed.

"What do you mean?" Beth absentmindedly rubbed her head, feeling a twinge of pain. She'd been living with the wound for a few weeks now but found she still sometimes forgot it was there.

"Edwards." Daryl growled the name. "He's takin' over Dawn's dirty work, and we ain't stickin' around to get mixed up in it."

"Dawn." The name sounded familiar on her tongue and ignited an anger deep within her belly. It took a moment to remember who she was, the woman who had shot her. Tried to kill her. "What makes you think he's doing her dirty work?"

Daryl scoffed. "Man practically told me." He moved back towards the door, peering out of the frame carefully. "Been watching the halls," he told her. "Not much activity. We could slip out in a few hours. Edwards can't stay up all night. And I'd rather not hurt anyone." His hand went to the bow on his back.

Beth's heart picked up its pace. Leave? Tonight? It all seemed so sudden. "You're ready to leave?"

Daryl turned back towards the bed. "Well, yeah. Don't wanna stay here any longer than we gotta."

Nervously, Beth cracked her knuckles, looking around at the hospital room. She had her memories. Her dreams. But the hospital room was all she'd known since she woke up. The concept of a trip, in the world she knew was out there, was terrifying. In her _condition_ , a trip was downright dangerous.

"Don't you wanna leave?" Daryl hovered over the side of her bed, looking down at her curiously.

"Sure I do. I'm just...Daryl, I'm not who I used to be. I haven't had to fight since I woke up. I'm not even sure I could kill a walker anymore, much less hear one coming and react. And, with the amount I need to sleep-"

"Beth." Daryl cut her off. "I can protect you, you don't need to worry about that. The trip ain't that bad." He shook his head, gripping the side of her bed. "I'll do whatever it takes to get you home."

Home. The concept of home was so foreign to Beth that the word startled her from their conversation. What would _home_ even look like anymore? A place with Maggie, Daryl, and the others she struggled to place by name. She'd know them when she saw them again, she knew she would.

In this moment, Daryl looked so sure, so determined, begging her to come with him. She just wasn't sure he understood what a burden she could to be to him.

"I don't know Daryl." She rubbed her arms. "Maybe I should stay here, you can go back and get more help. I can't put all this on you."

"No!" His outburst was forceful, making her heart skip a beat. "I can't lose you again, Beth." His hands gripped the bed so hard, she could feel him tugging on the blanket. She could feel the energy radiating off of him. He was trembling.

Gently, she grazed her fingertips across his forearm, in an attempt to soothe. His grip loosened slightly, and he met her eyes; a little hurt, a little concern. "Okay Daryl." She nodded. "We go, tonight."

* * *

They stood at the doorway of Beth's room. She wore the only things she had left in the world, a ratty pair of jeans, the faded yellow shirt, brown belt, gray socks, and boots. Daryl stood across from her, his eyes observing, careful to stay hidden in the shadow of the room.

A body passed their room, footsteps echoing away from them down the hall. The man standing guard at the front doors had come back for a bathroom break. That left only one man at the double doors. She knew, because that's what Daryl had told her.

He was brilliant. The man was _made_ for survival in this world, and although she couldn't remember everything that happened between them, she found that she trusted him easily.

"Now," he said, and Beth made her move into the hallway, slipping out from the door, her back flush against the wall. Daryl followed and the pair slipped down the hall, towards the front doors. As they reached them, Beth crouched to the side, and Daryl mirrored her, putting a finger to his lips.

Slowly, he pressed them open, shifting silently through to the other side. Beth followed, hearing a muffled scuffle and a thump. By the time she had stilled the doors behind her, Daryl had taken care of the second man.

"Daryl!" she hissed, but he shook his head.

"He's just passed out." He came behind her, pressing his hand against her back. A comfort in the moment of adrenaline. Still crouched, they darted into a run, sprinting down the hallway.

* * *

The night air was like a glass of fresh, cool water, straight from the faucet. It poured over her cracked skin, spreading to the tips of her fingers, into the toes of her boots. All of her senses came alive, her eyes wide to take in the world around her. She hadn't felt this clear since she'd woken up.

She followed Daryl as he jogged through the parking lot, stealthily, silently, a natural hunter, graceful and deliberate in all of his movements. The pair squeezed through a gate, Daryl careful to lend his hand to her as she did so.

Beth was surprised at how well her legs seemed to keep up with her brain. She'd expected some sort of disconnect between the two under so much exertion, but she kept stride with Daryl without too much effort.

In the dark, the city streets were indistinct, the moon their only source of light. They stumbled down the street, careful to dodge any corpses that still tried, pathetically, to nip at their heels.

Finally, Daryl turned, shifting down an alley, gripping something in the darkness, then dragging it out into the street. It took Beth a moment to realize that it was a motorcycle.

Daryl mounted the bike, then turned to her. "Get on," he told her, a sense of urgency in his voice. "And don't let go."

She scrambled for the bike, trembling as she wrapped her arms around Daryl's middle, squeezing her forearms into his chest, his warmth a sharp contrast to the coolness of the air that touched her skin. That same sense of home hit her straight in the gut, and although there was plenty of reason to be afraid, Beth found herself smiling as Daryl navigated them out of Atlanta.


	6. Chapter 6 - Braselton

**Last One Standing**

Chapter Six - Braselton

* * *

He drove into the dark, afraid to look over his shoulder. Anxiety plagued him as he drove them away from the tall buildings, the crowds of the dead. He never wanted to see Atlanta again.

All he could focus on was getting himself and Beth _away_. From the city. From Grady. From her accident. Bring her back to where she belonged in Alexandria.

How had he gotten so lucky? It was like the universe told him to go back for her. He'd listened, and now, she was here, her tiny arms squeezed tightly around his middle, gripping him for dear life. And despite all of it, despite seeing her in the flesh, being with her for hours, he still had trouble believing she was real.

They drove on. Past the highway pileups, somewhere outside the city.

The roar of the motorcycle drowned out nature beyond them, the hum of crickets, calls of owls, and the groans of the dead. As he drove, he thought about _what would be_. The questions, the reunions, the pure, raw awe that was sure to come that Beth had _survived_. And if Daryl hadn't gone back to do right by her, she'd still be in Grady, with Edwards looming over her.

He pushed the thought away. Thinking about it overwhelmed him.

Weight shifted behind him, and he slowed, the intense roar of the bike lowering to a dull hum. The landscape around him looked unfamiliar. His head had been clouded in thought.

"You okay?" he managed to yell.

Beth's arms tightened. "Can we take a break?"

He pulled the bike to a stop, catching them with his legs, steadying the motorcycle before he looked over his shoulder. "What's up?"

She had that same pained look on her pretty face, and something about the night revealed how damaged she actually was. Despite sleep, despite medical care, the bullet had changed her face. Not dramatically, but she wasn't the same. The left side of her face sagged slightly. She was somehow harder, less bright.

"I need to lie down." She said it with guilt like her recovery was shameful. Like she was an inconvenience to him.

"Beth." He spoke with a twinge of frustration that she might feel bad about her condition."It's alright. We'll find camp for the night." He paused. "I understand."

Daryl pulled the bike from the highway, down the next road he found, into the depths of Georgia trees. He knew death could be waiting for them around the corner, especially in the woods, but he couldn't risk Beth on the bike, falling asleep, and getting hurt.

The road led them into a town called Braselton. It looked like any other town in Georgia, your own local police station, fire station, Dollar General. An eerie silence settled over them as they traveled slowly down the main street of the town. Daryl's eyes picked up on two straggling walkers to their right, but they could outrun them easily. He turned his attention to finding a safe place to lay low until sunrise.

A large brick building came into view, the words BRASELTON BROS DEPARTMENT STORE painted on the side.

 _Here._

Daryl pulled off the road, pulling the bike into the parking lot. There was a long strip of buildings, the next two labeled BRASELTON SUPERMARKET, and BRASELTON FURNITURE & APPLIANCES. The windows were boarded, but he could see nothing but darkness beyond them.

He killed the engine and steadied the bike. "In here." He turned to help Beth off the bike, and they walked up to what had once been a storefront. Outside the boarded windows were small wooden tables with garden decor still displayed out front. They were worn by the time they'd been outside in the elements, some broken by the weather, or perhaps a stray walker.

Beth observed them curiously, picking up a stone with the word _Hope_ carved into the side. She smiled at it, then looked up at him, holding the stone in her palm.

Hope.

Under any other circumstance, he might have scoffed at it, turned away, maybe rolled his eyes. But this woman, with her blonde, bandaged head, a smile toying at her lips, embodied the word as he knew it. _Hope_. There was still some left in this god-forsaken world.

A bump against the boards that were nailed to the windows startled him, and he turned, instinctively drawing his knife. Beth shrunk, hands searching for a weapon she didn't have. Daryl reminded himself that they needed to find her a knife. Together, they stared at the door to the building.

"Stay here." It was a command, and he put his hand out to keep her standing in place. He moved up to the window, peeking through the break in the boards. His eyes adjusted and he saw the source of the noise. Four walkers clambered around inside, one scratching at the door. They all wore uniforms, red and white, with nametags. They must have been in there since the Turn.

Daryl moved to the door. It was locked, with something propped up against it from the inside. He looked behind at Beth. Her eyes were wide, but she didn't look scared. She could have been waiting for a bus. It surprised him. He expected her to cower, to tremble slightly at the sound of walkers. He'd been with her long enough to know how she reacted to these types of things. This was... _different_.

A snap of teeth brought him back. With his shoulder he pushed the door inwards, the obstruction on the other side falling to the floor with a loud _clang_. He hoped like hell nobody was anywhere nearby.

 _Move quick_. _Focus_.

His knife came up to the crack of the door, just as the walker's forehead came through. He sunk the knife through the skull and pulled it out with one clean swipe. The body collapsed, and Daryl forced his way through.

The three remaining walkers had heard the clang and were on him immediately. In quick succession, Daryl grabbed and stabbed, flinging them off to the side like rag dolls.

Footsteps behind him signaled Beth making her way over the threshold. Daryl hurried over, his heart pumping with adrenaline. They weren't out of the woods yet.

"Let's get this up, over the door." Daryl had knocked over a set of metal shelves when he entered. Together, they lifted it, settling it against the front door.

They stood back, admiring their work. Daryl relaxed his shoulders. For a moment, he felt content.

Until a new voice filled the room.

"Hands up!"


	7. Chapter 7 - New Faces

Last One Standing

Chapter Seven - New Faces

* * *

From the corner her eye, Beth saw Daryl reach for his crossbow, but it was too late. They both turned to face three men, all holding shotguns level with their heads. Beth's breath caught in her throat, and the pain in her head stung, sending a jolt from the top of her forehead to the nape of her neck.

"We don't want no trouble." Daryl's gruff voice rolled through the silence of the room, but the men didn't shift. "We just need a place to stay until the sun comes up."

The man in the middle stepped forward. He was bearded, with a stocky build, and wore a gray cloth beanie. He narrowed his eyes at them. "Put your _fucking_ hands up."

Beth struggled to make her arms move. Sometimes it was hard, sometimes effortless. In fear, it seemed, her brain took longer to connect with her limbs.

"I said-"

"We fucking heard you!" Daryl shouted, shifting forward. Beth bit her lip, finally able to pull her hands above her head.

"Give me the crossbow." The man was close to Daryl now, one hand on his gun, the other outstretched. Daryl took a deep breath before he pulled it off his back. "And the knife." Daryl's hand went to his hip but hesitated to pull it from its holster.

The man didn't hesitate, jamming the shotgun into Daryl's chest. Daryl let the knife fall to the floor. The man reached a leg out to swipe it behind them. He turned next to Beth, and she tried to read him. He was tight-lipped. Something about him looked conflicted.

"I don't have a weapon," she told him, her voice steady. The man circled her carefully, his eyes traveling over her body, searching for any place she might be hiding a weapon.

"What happened to you?" The man with the shotgun spoke with a thick southern accent, his voice like honey.

"I was shot."

"And you survived?" The man eyed her bandage once again. "How?"

"I was in a hospital, and, there was a doctor."

The man lowered the gun. "A hospital?" The barrel aimed at the floor. "Where?"

"Atlanta." Daryl's voice was hard, he spoke through gritted teeth.

Beth kept her eyes on the man. His eyes went wide with possibility. The hospital was important to him.

"Do they have medicine there? Medical care? Doctors?" The man turned to Daryl next. Daryl's arms were still raised,

"Yes," Beth said. The man turned back to her.

The man turned his back to them both, his arms slack with Daryl's crossbow in one arm, his shotgun in the other. Daryl lowered his arms, stiffening, ready to fight. Beth narrowed her eyes at him.

 _Stop_ , she mouthed to him with a shake of her head. _Don't_.

The man signaled for the other two to lower their guns, and they did as they were told. They huddled together in whispered conversation. Beside her, Daryl shifted to grab her arm. He held her steady like he was afraid she was going to fly away. The man was protective, she remembered that. Protective over things and people that he cared about.

"Come with us." The man returned, his gun and still slightly raised.

Daryl and Beth obeyed, moving forward. The three men led them through aisles of clothing, back into an area where more metal shelves were stacked. They rounded a corner and came into what must have once been the Home and Bath section of the department store.

The place had high ceilings and smelled how all things did these days, of stale body odor and something rotten. Beth noticed since her accident that her sense of smell had shifted. Sometimes it was heightened, sometimes not there at all. She supposed there would be many things like that to come as she recovered.

To the left of where they stood, three, large, plush beds were grouped, separated by scattered shelves, tables, and dressers. The beds were all occupied, the one closest to them, by a little girl. She couldn't have been older than six.

She lay back in the pillows, no color to her face, her lips purple, sleeping. Her breathing was slow, and she looked frail, uncomfortably so. The man who brought them back looked down at her from the foot of the bed. Beth knew, just by the way he looked at her, that she was his daughter.

"My daughter is sick." The revelation was obvious. "She needs a hospital." He looked up at Beth and Daryl, eyes focused. "And you are going to tell us how to get there."

Daryl's eyes narrowed at the man. "That place ain't what you think it is."

The man raised his eyebrow. "You think I care? She needs help. If they got medicine there, I'm gettin' it."

Beth looked at the bed, then back up at Daryl who sighed. "Fine," he said. "I'll draw ya a map. Their security is shit, they got a couple of scared kids guarding the entrance." He crossed his arms. "Once I show you the way through, you're gonna let us leave."

"This ain't that easy," the man growled. "Not until I know you're telling the truth about where this place is."

Daryl tensed beside her. She felt the anger radiating from his body like he'd explode with it.

"Unless you wanna do this the hard way?" The man slowly reached for the shotgun in his hand.

"No!" Beth nearly shouted, taking a step forward. Her head throbbed and she felt herself wobble on her feet from the outburst. She was so tired of guns. "We'll draw you a map and wait til we hear word you've found the place. Then, you let us go."

Daryl and the man exchanged a look before they both gave a nod of agreement.

Beth saw stars now. A shooting pain seared through her head. It felt like her head was splitting in two. She needed to lie down, and she needed to lie down fast.

"Beth?" Daryl's voice was filled with worry and fear. "You okay?"

No. It was too late. His arm was the first thing she found before she felt herself crumble into darkness.

* * *

 **A/N:** Sorry for the sporadic updates! I wrote this chapter, then I erased it all and re-wrote it so it took a little to get it right. I'm appreciating all of the comments, follows, and likes on this! I've really missed writing these two together and I'm really hoping you guys are enjoying the story so far. Thank you for reading!


	8. Chapter 8 - Locked Up

**Chapter Eight - Locked Up**

* * *

She woke up in a bundle of blankets, staring at someone's jeans. Dirty. There was a rip in the pocket, crudely sewn back together. Daryl. Beth pushed herself up from the ground with a groan, rubbing her temple.

"Hey." Daryl's gruff voice broke the silence. She turned to face him, his concerned expression soothing her. "You okay?"

"Mmhmm," she answered, giving her eyes a minute to adjust. "If I don't get down to sleep when I need to, my body can't keep up," she explained. "Where are we?"

Daryl sighed. "They put us in some sorta department store staff room. Guess the employees weren't very trusting of their customers." His hands gripped a locked, metal, floor to ceiling fence that he could shake. On the other side of it was a pathetic room with lockers, and a few tables and chairs. On one of the walls hung a corkboard, a faded marker sign that read "STAFF SCHEDULE". The water cooler had been overturned, the plastic tub long since looted.

On the counters sat clothes, various supplies, an old coffee maker, and packaged food. In the left-hand corner was what once functioned as a bathroom. Next to that, a janitor's closet, with mops and brooms and Swiffers sticking out from the open door. Beth watched as a mouse scurried out from that room, scampering back into the bathroom. Once, that might have bothered her. But not anymore.

She glanced over her shoulder at the room they sat in together. They were surrounded by three very solid walls, piled high with cardboard boxes, many of which were rifled through, sagging open with useless items, laid by the wayside, forgotten. Humans no longer needed department store prom dresses or designer heels. What they needed was medicine. Food. Basic necessities to survive.

Sometimes Beth wondered if she made the old world up.

"How long was I asleep?" she asked him, finally feeling like she was on the other side of sleep.

"Couple hours," he said. "Scared the shit outta me. You hungry?"

"Hungry?" Beth raised her eyebrow.

Daryl shrugged. "The people here ain't all bad, even if they did throw us in here. Helped me make sure you were still breathin'. They gave us some food and some water to hold us over. Said those guys won't be gone but a night. They're planning to bring Edwards here, to the little girl. Susan's her name."

Beth reached for the water. "Here?" she asked, taking the bottle from Daryl. "He won't want to leave the hospital."

Daryl frowned. "He ain't got no choice. Surprised they lasted as long as they did up in that hospital. Got a bunch of kids as the security team who don't know what they're doing."

Beth reached for the bag of beef jerky next, which Daryl handed to her. She opened it greedily, ripping into a piece with her teeth. "You met more of the people here?" she asked, swallowing her food.

Daryl nodded, bringing his arms around his knees. "Yeah. Reminds me a lot of Alexandria. There's some families here, like Rick's got. Couple of real young kids like Judith. We play our cards right, we don't got nothin' to worry about."

Beth nodded. _There are still good people, Daryl_. "Won't everyone back home be worried about you?" she asked.

Daryl shrugged. "Told Abe I'd be back eventually."

Abe. She tried to place the name. Another one she'd forgotten, surely? She tried to picture the name, to think about who, in her mind, it suited. A curly haired man? No. That was Rick. The dark-skinned man, who was with her for some time. She forgot his name but knew it wasn't his, either. "Abe?" she thought aloud, reaching for a spark of recognition.

"Sorry," Daryl said quietly. "Forgot you never...well, he was with us when we…" He shook his head, trailing off. "I'm sorry, Beth."

"I haven't met him yet?"

"No."

She gave him a small smile. "Then I didn't forget him," she answered, closing her eyes, giving herself a mental pat on the back. She opened them again, watching Daryl who studied her face with the same disbelief he couldn't seem to hide. "Silver lining."

It was Daryl's turn to give her a small smile. "'Course you'd find one."

"So," Beth said, taking a look around their small gated room. "You take a look around this place?"

Daryl rolled his eyes. "Nothin' but trash," he told her. "Got ya the only blankets I could find. Not like those big ones they got out there but figured they'd do."

"They're great," Beth answered, grabbing the material beneath her legs. "Better than those scratchy hospital blankets anyhow."

He gave her a real grin this time. "I bet."

"Well, let's explore," Beth said, getting to her knees, and to her feet. She stared down at her companion, who watched her with a comical expression.

"What?"

"Explore!" she said. "We're here for a whole night, so we might as well kill the time.

"There ain't nothin' in here Beth," he told her. "Just a bunch of clothes and…"

But she was off, ravaging the boxes, pulling down a cardboard one from the top of one of the piles. To her surprise, this one was still mostly intact, and when she opened it, she found out why.

"Oh god!" Beth cried, pulling out positively the ugliest hat she had ever seen. It was wide-brimmed, with massive amounts of feathers on it. The box was filled with them, overstock, she imagined. Still, she put it on her head, then turned to Daryl. "Isn't this a great hat?"

Daryl had stood from where he sat, his arms crossed, biting his lip from laughter.

"What?" Beth asked, reaching for another box. "I'm sure there's a hat for you in here, somewhere."

"Oh no," Daryl said, shaking his head. "Dixons don't wear hats."

"Oh come on," Beth said, pulling the box flaps open to find a matching feather scarf for her hat. "Live a little."

* * *

A fedora and a bow tie later, Beth started to tire again. She was determined though, and not wanting to stop her rampage through the boxes, she'd made her way to the bath and body overstock. She found fancy monogrammed hand towels, equally fancy soaps, exquisite bath salts from far away countries, and even one of those back scrubbers.

Daryl had taken to the box of bath bombs, throwing them at the wall to see what color they'd explode as. Well, it was one way to pass the time, even if they both ended up covered in glitter.

Beth was on the last box of a pile, this one on the floor. She nudged it, feeling its weight, trying to guess what was inside of it. To her surprise, when she opened it, she found six boxes of light-up mirrors.

She stared at them for a minute. Maggie had a mirror like this, back at the farm. She plugged it in and it took up all the good counter space in the bathroom, but she insisted she needed it. Beth always hated that darn thing, the way it magnified her face, so she could see every last pore, every last pimple.

Unable to stop herself, she opened one of the boxes, and lifted the mirror out, holding it firmly in her hands. The wrapping fell to the floor around her, like deflated balloons, and she stared at herself, overcome with disbelief.

There hadn't been mirrors in the hospitals. Someone had removed them from the rooms, perhaps in fear that could be used as a weapon if shattered. Beth realized she hadn't seen herself since her accident. She wasn't even sure if she remembered what she looked like.

But the mirror in her hands was a reflection of _her_ , of what she looked like now. What the bullet had done to her. What was left of her blonde hair and not covered by the bandage was stringy, limply tucked behind her ear. Grease coated the strands of her hair. She tried to remind herself that once, it had been beautiful.

Her face was worse. Half of her forehead was wrapped up in the bandage, but her face, drained of most color, was sunken. Her cheekbones stood out sharply like she'd lost a lot of weight too quickly. That was probably the truth, she knew. Her pants didn't fit her comfortably anymore. The side of her face sagged slightly, pulling the skin underneath her eye down, and even the corner of her mouth. The skin was loose there, making her look strange and deformed.

She dropped the mirror.

Daryl's head moved instantly as he heard the mirror collide with the ground. He went towards her, but she was already crying. Not that crying would do it any good. Crying wasn't going to fix her face.

"Beth?" he asked, politely. "What's wrong?"

She looked up at him, hating how perfectly put-together he looked in that moment, hating that she looked positively damaged. "Why didn't you tell me I looked like this?" she asked him, staring down at the broken mirror on the floor.

"Like _what_?" he asked, almost angrily. He followed her gaze. "Oh, Beth." He shook his head, his eyes coming back to her. "Beth, don't-"

"I'm mangled," she managed to cry, bringing her fingers to her face. The skin there still stung with sensitivity, but she let the pads of her fingers travel over her forehead, over her eyes, down her nose, and over her lips. Had she realized she was disfigured already, and just pretended she wasn't? Had she forgotten?

"Beth." Daryl came forward now. Timidly, he placed his hand on her shoulder, a little weight behind it. "You're not," he told her. "You'll heal. And even now. You're...lovely." He said it, without taking his eyes off her, even though the tips of his ears went red, even though his cheeks flushed pink, and involuntarily she melted into his touch.

She let out a breath, then let herself fall forward into his chest. He embraced her, and she cried.

* * *

 **A/N:** Sorry these chapters are taking so long! I have been working on some original stories and just released my first book this January! Anyway, watching the S8 mid-season premiere got me back in the mood to write some of this. Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. :)


	9. Chapter 9 - Release

**Last One Standing**

Chapter Nine - Release

* * *

Beth's tears subsided after what felt like forever, but she still laid against his lap in a heap on the floor. Her sudden shock had startled him. His first time seeing her, he hadn't been focused on her face, only the fact that she was alive. Sure, the bullet had damaged her. Her thoughts, her memory, but Beth was still there. And that's what mattered.

Still, he felt sorry. Sorry that this happened, that he couldn't have prevented it. Sorry that they just left her there, alone, to crawl back into a prison she didn't deserve to be in. Sorry he couldn't protect her.

His fingers found the side of her head, the side the bullet hadn't ripped through, gently pressing over the top of her blonde locks, brushing the hair away from her cheek. He felt her tense at the sudden touch, and he pulled back his arm like he'd been scorched by a flame.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

She rolled over, the back of her head flat against his thighs and looked up at him. Her eyes did something strange to him. Her wide blue irises seemed to sear right through him, studying the lines of his face, the wrinkles in his brow. He tilted his head to the side, unable to look away, wanting to both tame and savor the strange fluttering in his belly.

"No," she said, shaking her head slightly. "It was nice. I'm sorry. Haven't had many people I like touching my head these days."

 _People I like_. He had to smile at that.

She rolled back to her side, curling up into him like a cat, her back towards him, hair laid out against her shoulder. Newfound confidence washed over him as he brought his fingers up again, combing through her hair.

"Tell me about Alexandria," she asked.

Daryl chewed his lip. "Well, it's like a town. Bunch of houses, with lawns and sidewalks and a little pond and grass for the kids to play in. There's a place with a doctor, in case you get sick. And real mattresses, and sheets. The nice kind that rich people used to have," he thought out loud. "Everyone's got a job. There's a big garden and even a little church. And big old walls, so none of the walkers can come in. We shoot 'em down from the wall."

"Mmm," she hummed nuzzling her head into his hand. "That sounds nice."

He smiled, closing his eyes, and leaned his head back against the wall. "It is nice," he said. "You'd like it." He realized, as the words came out, it was the first time he'd thought fondly of Alexandria. For reasons unknown to him, the fact that Beth would like these parts of the town swelled something warm inside his chest. It made him...happy.

 _Happy_.

He opened his eyes. Jesus. When was the last time he'd even thought of the word _happy_? When was the last time he actually _felt_ happy?

Daryl looked down at the small woman curled up on his legs, remembering her in the funeral home, at the piano, looking so at home. Candles burned on the lid of the wooden instrument, illuminating her. _Like an otherworldly creature_ , he had thought. _We could have been so happy there_.

He felt her fingers make contact with his calf, ever so gently trailing circles through his jeans. The gesture was simple, filled with comfort and familiarity he had feared was lost forever.

* * *

Shouting from the other side of the wall woke him, startling him from his sleep with a jump that woke Beth too. Together, they straightened, aware of something happening beyond their prison. Unarmed and locked in a cage wasn't ideal if someone were to attack this place. He'd been betting on the compassion of the others he'd met to be released from this place.

His eyes scoured the chained fence for a way out. A break. Something. They'd already done a number on the room they sat in with nothing to help them break free. But the fence was locked in place. They were trapped.

The door burst open, slamming into the cement wall with a thick crack. The bearded man with the sick daughter came through first, followed by one of the other men from before, holding a limp body wearing a white coat in his arms. It was unmistakably Edwards.

"Get him in there," the bearded man told his companion. He eyed Beth, then eyed Daryl, as though having an internal conflict with himself. "Let the other ones go."

A sense of relief swept over Daryl, one that he hadn't realized he'd been waiting for. Beth's hand bumped his own, her slender fingers slipping over his large, calloused palm, and grasped him tightly, as though she were holding on for dear life.

The man carrying Edwards came into their cage, dumping his body on the pile of blankets Beth had used as a bed earlier that day. The doctor didn't move, and Daryl noticed his cracked glasses and bloody nose before he and Beth left the room they'd been trapped in.

Daryl kept his focus on the bearded man. Their eyes stayed locked on one another before the door to the confined room was locked, sealing Edwards in behind them.

"What are you going to do to him?" Beth's voice was tiny and far away, and he slowly turned to look at her.

Sadly, she stared at the doctor's limp frame, before her gaze wandered up towards the bearded man. He frowned at her. "I need him to help my daughter," was all he said.

"Please," she said slowly, trying to find her words. She squeezed her eyes closed and two fat tears rolled from the corners of her eyes. "Don't kill him," she pleaded, opening them once more. "He saved my life."

The man stared at her for a moment. The request was humane and Daryl could understand it. After all she'd been through, after they'd abandoned her, after losing almost all her memories, Edwards had been all she knew before Daryl came along.

"I won't kill him," the man said in a soft, slow voice. "I just...need him to help my daughter."

Daryl caught a hint of guilt. A twinge of humanity behind the man that stood before him. He was doing what he needed to in order to save his family. Daryl realized the two of them were not very different at all. They were all just trying to survive.

They left the room, walked through the department store, back through the way they came. Low sunlight filtered through the still boarded up windows, signaling what Daryl hoped was dusk. His sense of time inside this place was warped.

As they reached the door, the bearded man shoved a backpack in Beth's hands. "Got a few supplies and granola bars," he told them as he shoved the shelf that held the door in place to the side. It scraped across the floor with an unpleasant screech, allowing them access to the door.

"Thanks," Daryl mumbled, taking it from Beth to strap it across his back.

"I'm...um...sorry about all this," the man said, with genuine sincerity. "Thank you. For telling us about the doctor." He paused. "For helping my daughter."

 _We didn't have much of a choice_ , Daryl wanted to say, but he bit his tongue. Together, he and Beth slid out into the warm Georgia air, and the bearded man disappeared behind his door.

Daryl's awareness heightened, like an animal sensing a threat. A loud scrape from the inside of the store told him the man was already pulling the heavy shelf back into place, locking them outside. The sound was louder than he'd realized inside and had attracted a group of walkers, stumbling towards them from the edge of the wide parking lot.

He went towards the side of the store, eyes searching for the bike he knew he left there, ready to kick it into gear.

But the lot was empty. His bike was gone.

* * *

 **A/N:** I haven't abandoned this story! Promise! :) But I've been super busy with my personal writing projects! I know some asked about where to find my books - feel free to check out my profile for links. Hope you all are doing well and enjoyed this chapter. For being so patient and waiting so long, I've written more! ;)


	10. Chapter 10 - A New Journey

**Last One Standing**

Chapter 10 - A New Journey

* * *

Beth's head pounded as they ran. Her feet hit the pavement painfully, adrenaline surging through her as they crossed the main street, past another row of buildings. She hadn't had any strenuous exercise since her accident and found herself frustrated at how slowly her legs seemed to connect to her brain.

Daryl never let go of her hand. His fingers gripped tightly around her knuckles as they ran together, through a row of trees, into the back of what used to be someone's yard. The handsome porch was weathered, chairs overturned, glass table shattered across the wood. Inside, a pair of walkers crashed up against the glass, eyes widening as they took in Daryl and Beth.

The pair paused a moment to catch their breath, before taking off once more, down the front driveway and all the way across the development. They ran until Beth thought her lungs might burst. They paused in a wooded area, both leaning up against the trunk of a tree, their surroundings finally quiet from the groans of walkers.

They sucked in deep breaths of air, glad to be out of danger and glad to have stopped running.

"Fuck!" Daryl finally exclaimed, breaking the silence. He slammed his palm against the tree branch, causing it to shake.

"Daryl!"

He grunted. "We need to find a car," he told her. "We can't walk all the way back to Alexandria. Especially with your condition."

Beth frowned at him, touching her bandage, hating its existence. She hated every part of this recovery, every last detail of her injury. Not only was it frustrating to overcome, but it was now putting Daryl in danger.

"Daryl, I'm-"

"No." His eyes raised and caught her, stopping her words. His stare was heavy, determined, and protective. "Don't you apologize. Didn't mean it like that."

"I just know it's tough."

"Been tougher without you," Daryl answered, his eyes not leaving her own. His stare was fierce like he was _really_ seeing her. It was a moment of still, of recognizing the impossible. There was something there, something between them. This sense of familiarity, like they'd looked at each other this way before.

 _Peanut butter. Candles. Cola. Maybe we stick around here for a while. They come back? We'll just make it work._

Her breath hitched, and her eyelids fluttered, words escaping the memory she'd just found in the depths of her battered brain. That was certainly something.

"What do we do now?" she asked.

Daryl looked up at the trees that hid the lowering sun from view. "We need to find camp," he told her. "And we need to find ourselves some weapons."

* * *

They trudged through the forest until they came upon the next town a few miles through the woods. A row of townhomes was visible through the gaps between the trees, each narrow home sporting its own small fenced patio.

"Here," Daryl said, carefully edging up to the back of one of the houses. He pushed his way through one of the gates, all of which seemed to still be relatively intact. Beth followed suit, closing the gate with a click behind herself as she took in the backyard.

The area was covered in stones, with greens popping up between the cracks. There was a small table and chairs, and an uncovered grill. Daryl wrestled the sliding door open and entered. "Wait here," he called out to her. Beth nodded as she looked up at the house, taking in the gorgeous pale blue siding with white window frames.

After a few minutes, Daryl stuck his head out from the door. "It's clear," he told her. "Come on in."

She obeyed, following him into the house. The sliding door opened into an impressive kitchen. The marble counter still held a few dishes with moldy food, like someone had left without cleaning up their morning breakfast. A plastic plate with a Disney princess and a small fork sat on an abandoned high chair in the corner of the room.

The scene was oddly upsetting to Beth. What happened to the people that lived here? What made them feel so rushed away from their life that they'd have to leave without clearing their dishes. Did they think they were coming back? Did they whisk their baby away to safety? Were they still alive?

"Beth?" Daryl peered out at her from the narrow hall.

She tried to forget the thoughts, but she was lost in her emotion, sadness collecting in her eyes. "Sorry," she said, wiping the bottom of her eyelids.

He looked at the floor. "Don't do that," he said.

"Do what?" she asked, with an easy laugh. She found his eyes again, looking up at her timidly.

"Hate when you cry."

"You better get used to it," she said, laughing between her smile. She gave him a sheepish grin.

"Nah," he said. "Like it better when you smile."

Her heart raced, a bubble rising from her belly into her throat. Her stomach somersaulted and her breath shortened. This man was something. Something else to her than she knew. There was something she couldn't remember.

"Is the rest of the house clear?" she asked.

He nodded. "Got something to show you." He jerked his head behind himself. "Come on."

She followed him down the narrow hall, past a bathroom and a dining room, into the front of the house that had a small den with tall windows, concealed with blinds. There was a handsome rug, a small wooden end table, two white chairs and a massive black baby grand piano.

Daryl stood next to it, grinning like a schoolboy. "What are the chances?"

Beth stared at it. The instrument was gorgeous and sleek almost untouched by the time that had passed in this house. She wondered if it was tuned. Without meaning to, she found herself on the bench, feet touching the golden foot pedals, pads of her fingers sliding across the ivory keys. Her slightest touch rewarded her with a small chime of a note.

"They say playing an instrument can help spark a memory," Daryl said quietly, behind her. She looked over her shoulder at him, peering up at his dark face. Beth turned to find her keys, trying to remember the notes. "F. A. C. E., for the white spaces," she said aloud to herself, touching each key. "E. G. B. D. F. for those in between." She found a C chord. Then a G, and a D. Before long, her fingers were traveling over the keys, playing melodies, she couldn't remember ever learning.

The brain was incredible. Housed somewhere deep in her memory were songs and music, waiting to be released as she sat down at the piano. The melody was intoxicating and she flew across each edge of the piano bench as her fingers flew across the black and white ivory.

Before long, her voice caught up. Songs and music and melodies came through her fingers, but somehow the songs weren't complete until she sang them.

" _We'll drink up our grief  
and pine for summer  
and we'll buy beer to shotgun  
and we'll lay in the lawn  
and we'll be good."_

"You remember?"

The keys halted beneath her fingers and she spun on the chair to look at him. "Remember what?" she asked.

"This song. It's one you played before."

She watched him bite his lip, rubbing his hands together nervously.

"Daryl," she said slowly, trying to find the right words.

"Mmm?"

"Is there something else I should be remembering? About you?" she asked, both certain and uncertain that there was.

His eyes flicked upwards. "What do you mean?"

She swallowed, feeling her heart beat wildly in her chest. "Who are you to me?"

"What?"

"Is there...something between us?" She wasn't sure how to ask the question. She wasn't even sure _why_ she was asking the question, only that she knew what she felt. The memory had appeared, clear as day, like a television screen behind her eyes, playing out scene by scene. It wasn't a dream. It wasn't made up. It was a true memory.

"I'm..." Daryl paused. "I'm not sure."

"Oh," Beth said, surprised to find herself disappointed. She turned back to the piano, ready to find a new song. It felt good to play. It felt good to _remember_.

Her fingers had barely touched the keys when she felt Daryl's large hand touch her shoulder.


	11. Chapter 11 - The First Night

**Chapter Eleven - The First Night**

* * *

Beth's question caught him off guard. The past two days had been filled with exceptional surprise, fear, and complete uncertainty, but the look in her eyes sparked something else entirely. Something he hadn't felt in quite some time. And it scared him.

His hand found her shoulder as she started to play again. Gently, she turned her head, her chin meeting his knuckles. She felt so fragile and thin, much more so than the last time he'd been with her. The woman deserved a meal.

"I'm gonna find us some food," he said, and she nodded, her attention returning to the piano. "I'll barricade the back door," he continued, pulling a knife he found in the kitchen from his belt. He placed it beside her on the piano bench. "But...just in case."

Daryl released his grip on her, hesitating slightly before he went back towards the hallway into the kitchen. He rifled through the cabinets finding a few candles, some rope, reusable grocery bags and coffee beans, but nothing to eat. He grabbed a few of the canvas bags and turned towards the sliding glass door to the empty yard.

It had been quite some time since food was easy to come by. Not everything had been rifled through, but it took some extra work to find anything worthwhile anymore. Most of these crowded places had been picked over.

The air outside was getting cooler, signaling the setting of the sun. Daryl found the old barbeque with the propane missing stuffed up against the side of the small porch, which he shoved against the sliding door. Not ideal, but he wouldn't be going far.

Beyond the back fence were rear entrances to each of the houses, making it easy to jump in and explore. In the first house, he found a single walker who had obviously been a bitten straggler. The man had left some of his camping gear in the living room, a working lantern, a plastic candle lighter, a half-full bottle of Jack, and a sleeping bag. He had also gone through the trouble of collecting the remaining food in the house, which turned out to just be a can of beans, creamed corn, and a single kid's juicebox. Daryl shoved everything into his bags.

Next, he rifled through the medicine cabinet, grabbing everything in there, plus the remaining toilet paper, shower curtain, and a pair of nail scissors. He looked through the bedrooms grabbing all the clean socks and underwear he could find.

In the next house he did the same, finding it completely empty, as if the occupants had gotten up one morning and tried to run. In the pantry he did find an array of seasonings which he swiped, thinking it might spruce up any meat they might find. There was also a small empty dog crate, which he tucked under his arm as he headed back, thinking he could maybe make it into some sort of trap for small animals.

The sun was almost gone by the time he left the second house, and he decided they had enough for the night. Back at the house, he shoved the grill out of the way, heading inside to dump everything on the floor. Inside, there was the pleasant tinkle of piano keys, but Daryl, instead, stared at the kitchen door, frowning. He needed to cover the glass, so not to draw attention to them in case they needed to use the kitchen.

Turning towards the front of the house he went into the hallway to grab a blanket, and tucked it into the edges of the door to cover the glass. It wasn't the best solution, but for tonight, it would have to do.

As he stood back to look at his masterpiece, he realized the music had stopped. He could feel a presence behind him, and spun on his heel, almost tripping over himself to take in Beth.

She looked apprehensive and tired, glancing across the floor at the things he had brought back. In the dark, with her expression, her apprehension, she almost looked like a ghost of herself. Daryl was still unconvinced that this wasn't a dream.

"What'd ya find?" she asked playfully. Her boundless optimism never ceased to floor him, her playful energy a rare source of light in the chaos constantly around them.

"More than I thought," he said truthfully, getting to his knees to dig his treasures from his bag. He held up the cans he had found. "Beans or corn?"

Beth grinned. "Let's split them," she said, rubbing her hands together as if he had brought home a whole Thanksgiving dinner.

Daryl's stomach grumbled as he grinned back. He couldn't help it. "Alright," he said, getting to his feet. "Let's open 'em up."


	12. Chapter 12 - Waking Up

**Chapter Twelve - Waking Up**

* * *

Beth Greene woke up comfortable. She soaked the few seconds of foggy sleep in as she snuggled down beneath a comforter that felt soft and clean and _lovely_. Her sheets were warm, pillows fluffy, and when she spread her arms out she couldn't even feel the edges of her bed.

She opened her eyes, greeted by sunlight, unable to help herself from smiling as the warm rays washed over her. But something about this bed, despite the comfort, felt _different_. It wasn't hers.

She sat up, heart pounding. The disoriented fuzziness she'd woken up with refused to leave her brain as she tried to make sense of her room. The walls were painted in soft yellows, decorated with white wicker furniture. The floors were covered in a beige rug, and a pair of brown boots were crumpled in the corner of her room. She reached for the bedside table where, instinctively, she found a knife.

Suddenly, it all came back at once, the memories of her family, the farm, Maggie, Momma, Shawn, Jimmy, Glenn, Daddy, the Governor, the prison, the baby, the overwhelming sense of loss and frustration, _a drink_ , and then the redneck with the crossbow. Somehow, as he came to mind, he brought things back together for her, the hospital, her injury, stumbling back, being treated by a man in glasses, and then the same man with the crossbow and his leather vest.

 _Daryl_ , she reminded herself, playing with his name on her lips. It felt right and suited him, and for the most part, she believed it was true. Waking up after a heavy sleep was the hardest. It was like her memory was wiped and she had to work to get it all back.

Things seemed clearer now, although she was exhausted before she'd even rolled out of bed, she figured she should at least try and wash up a bit before she took a look at the situation downstairs. She was alone in the room, and so she trusted that Daryl thought they were safe enough for her to get some rest. She smiled to herself as her feet found the floor.

The room she slept in had an en-suite bathroom that she wandered into, marveling at the size of it in comparison to what she had in the farm. A massive tub, a glass shower, double sinks, and a private toilet. She started underneath the sink, finding all sorts of soaps and creams. The jackpot turned out to be a bottle of dry shampoo and a wide tooth comb which she placed on top of the counter to try to make sense of her hair.

In the linen closet she found a travel pack of baby wipes, which was as good as gold, and a half-used men's stick of deodorant that she placed on the counter. She avoided the wide mirror that hung over the double sinks for as long as she could, until finally taking a good, long look at herself.

The shock of seeing her face the other day had been starling, in part because she hadn't seen herself in months. Now, she was able to make sense of her face and what it looked like, and she realized, things could have been worse. She could have been dead. The damage was manageable, and as she poked and prodded at her sagging skin, she realized, over time, the injury would heal and not look so shocking. That made her feel better. Still, she was not eager to take off and replace the bandage around her head, and she realized, at some point today, Daryl would need to help her redress it.

After a long battle with the dry shampoo, the comb, and her hair, she was able to get most of her tangles out and weave it into something that resembled a braid. The baby wipes washed most of the dirt from all parts of her skin, helping her to feel fresher than she had in a long time. She slid some deodorant on and went in search of some clothes.

Feeling more awake, she noticed more details of the room than she had seen before. Someone had left a variety of clothes on top of the dresser, mismatched socks, a tangled pile of what looked like women's bras, a few pairs of underwear, a pile of shirts, and some half-folded pants. She grinned, knowing it was Daryl, trying to imagine him untangling all those bras from each other in hopes that Beth could find something that fit her.

She appreciated the gesture, and rifled through the lot to find something that fit. She settled on underwear, a pair of jeans, and an Atlanta Braves t-shirt. The jeans fell from her hips, so she scavenged a belt from the large closet in the room, deciding to search through it some more later. Grabbing the knife that had been carefully placed on the bedside table, she headed downstairs.

The house was eerily quiet, as most things were these days, if you were careful enough, at least. She crept down the stairs, grateful that they were covered in rug. At the end of the stairs was the piano she'd played yesterday, but no Daryl.

She crept towards the kitchen, where the sun broke through the holes in the blanket he had hung against the glass sliding door. On the right, in the living room, lay Daryl, a large kitchen knife clutched in his hand, snoring.

Beth grinned at him, and wanting to let him sleep, turned towards the kitchen to tidy up. They may not stay here long, but as long as they did, they deserved for the place to feel somewhat neat. She cleaned up the remnants of the old occupants last meals, finding a bucket underneath the sink, and dumping all the dirty dishes inside. If they _did_ decide to stay, she could wash them once it rained.

She found cleaning supplies beneath the sink and went to work on the countertops, the oven, the sink, even the floor, working to get up the dust and grime that had been packed in over Lord knows how long. Then, she went to work on the things Daryl had found, finding a place for all the spices, the Jack, the candles, and lighter. The other things she sorted between the bags, and rolled up the sleeping bag so it was nice and tidy in case they needed to run again.

It was only then that Daryl stirred, mumbling something in his sleep, rolling over, with the knife still clutched in his hand. Beth started forward, hesitating, but unable to resist, lunging at Daryl in an effort to stop him before he accidentally stabbed himself in the gut. She pulled the knife from him just as he shifted to turn over, but he startled awake with a yell.

It was instinct, and happened in a flash, Daryl stood up, grasping Beth by the shoulders. She could see the sleep mixed with terror across his face as he tried to make sense of her, his narrowed blue eyes darting across her face wildly.

"Daryl," she tried to say calmly, although her voice was shaking. "It's me. It's Beth."

He stood before her, thin lipped, his grip on her shoulder releasing slowly. He rubbed his other hand over his face before he let her go completely, and collapsed back down on the couch.

"Sorry," he said in a gruff voice, running a hand through his hair. "Shit. How long've I been out?"

"Not long," she lied.

"Shouldn't've fallen asleep."

She gave him an unconvinced grin. "Everyone has to sleep Daryl."

He grunted in response as he looked her up and down. "Clothes fit okay?"

Even in the dark, Beth could have sworn she saw his cheeks tinge pink, but she decided to keep that to herself. "Everythin' fits fine," she told him. "Even found some wipes and deodorant upstairs," she said. He looked up at her hopefully. "I left 'em on the counter, if you want…" she trailed off.

"How're you feelin'?" Daryl asked.

"Fine. A little tired. Mornings are always tough."

He nodded in understanding. "We need to find some bandages for that head of yours," he told her, and she was instantly grateful he'd brought it up first. Nothing seemed to scare Daryl, but everything seemed to scare Beth. "Then more food, at least to keep us stable for a little while. We can search around the neighborhood for a car if we can find one, but…" he paused, meeting her eyes, "maybe sticking around here for a while...while you recover at least...might not be so bad."

She nodded, happy that he said exactly what she was thinking.


End file.
